The Sentinel Mage

CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN





CORPSES SWARMED OVER him, tearing the hair from his scalp, wrenching his arms from their sockets. “Use your fire magic, you sniveling coward!” someone yelled.

Harkeld woke to the sound of the shout echoing in his ears. He pushed away the blankets and sat up, gasping for air.

A hand touched his back. “Harkeld?”

That voice, that light touch, steadied him. His panic receded.

Harkeld wiped the sweat from his face. His breathing slowed. He lay back down and turned to her, gathering her close. He knew who she was without seeing her. The witch, Innis.

Even though she was a witch, he held her tightly. This wasn’t real. It was a dream, too.

Her head rested against his shoulder. One of her hands lightly stroked his back. “It’s all right,” she said. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

Harkeld wanted to believe her.

He was aware of her breath against his skin, aware of her heart beating, aware of her emotions: grief, guilt—and he understood that she felt responsible for Dareus’s death, too.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he said. It was mine. I could have saved him. And the three soldiers.

The witch sighed. She turned her head slightly, pressed her cheek against his skin. “It wasn’t your fault either.”

Yes, it was.

Harkeld stared into the darkness. He remembered the sting of fire running over his skin, remembered the sensation of flames igniting in his chest. Terror rose inside him. His heart began to beat faster.

She stroked his shoulder blade, soothing. “Don’t be afraid, Harkeld. Everything will be all right.”

He held her tightly and tried to believe it.